


Enough

by Worm_moon



Category: Bandom, Metalocalypse
Genre: Bisexual Male Character, Bisexuality, Bisxeckuals, Discussion of Biphobia, Discussion of Bullying, Discussion of Homophobia, Discussion of Violence, Discussion of childhood sexual abuse, Discussion of inter-relationship violence, Don't worry, F/M, Fluff, Gen, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, Genderfluid, Genderfluid Character, Genderqueer, Genderqueer Character, Godddamnit, I mean, I mean we all want a party when the funeral ends?, Just sittin around cussin and chewin sunflower seeds, Let's call this:, M/M, No not gay, No not straight, Not giving away the ending but it's rad, Other, Queer Themes, Queerplatonic Relationships, Right?, Swearing, Trans Character, and decide where the relationship is heading, but like trans life expectancy is really low, cursing, cussin', discussion of alcoholism, discussion of dead friends, discussion of sex addiction, discussion of transphobia, here's to you mama, jk, just gimme a little credit, may or may not be based off real life shit, mild but still, ok enough faffing about in the tags, please feel free to right take offs/sequels, queerplatonic, we all have those, yeah?, you decide for yourselves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-30
Updated: 2017-04-30
Packaged: 2018-10-25 21:12:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 7,453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10772514
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Worm_moon/pseuds/Worm_moon
Summary: Skwisgaar and Toki are in a rough patch.  The band seems to be fine and successful on the outside, but Toki is more and more certain that gender is garbage, and Skwisgaar can't handle it, among other doubts.  Toki is finally fed up with this.  Self-destruction and violence reign, and Skwisgaar is especially keen to drown any feelings of vulnerability or mercy--towards others but especially toward himself.  Will our protagonists figure out how to deal with being stuck on this shitty mortal coil?  Or will their inner demons tear them and the entire band apart?  It's a zero-sum game either way.  Or is it?





	1. Failure to thrive

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, honestly I started writing this as crack-fic in an effort to procrastinate taking care of important life things. But then I had to be a human being and like take care of responsibilities and experience loss and get sad and like grow in my relationships and junk. So like then I actually started writing things and well . . . here we are. I've read fic for years. Finally wrote one. This is purely from my enjoyment of watching character development to yours. I hope it is half as inspiring as the fic I've found in this community to be. 
> 
> PS, this all goes really good with some Insomnium or some Be'lakor. Even Nicole Dollanganger, if you're feeling melancholly and compelled. But if so, then you must go watch some Mr. Rogers to remember that it will be ok. Or maybe it won't and nothing will, but that's okay in the end too. Memento mori. Omnia mutantur / nihil interit.
> 
> PPS: I promise the chapters get longer after this.

“Fuck!” Skwisgaar laid down his guitar, got up, and walked over to get a drink.

“We’s could just tries it in the morning?” Toki said hesitantly, silently picking through his section of the new piece.

Skwisgaar sighed lengthily, “Whatever. I’m going out.” Toki began to state something, but Skwisgaar had already left the room. Instead, the second guitarist looked down and returned to practicing, pausing at each rest where the other would play.


	2. Whatevers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please see chapter one for details.

“Uuhhh . . . ” Skwisgaar sat down next to Toki the next day, rubbing his eyes and lifting his axe to begin going over the piece again.

“You looks kinda tired . . . ” Toki looked over Skwisgaar’s worn façade. Still the familiar lank, milk-blonde cascade of hair lay over Skwisgaar’s shoulders, drifting like horse’s mane from his crown to his chest, evidently recently washed, judging from its dull glisten, though Toki could easily smell booze and smoke and something noxiously close to lubricant and excess fabric softener emanating from him. The stench was off-putting, but the familiar smell, coupled with the recognizable movement of Skwisgaar picking through chords to warm up somehow always put Toki at ease. Despite this, Toki also noticed Skwisgaar had significant bags under his eyes, the corner of one twitching periodically in a worrying sort of way.

“Ugh, yeahs, this slut last night refused to gives me a ride back to the hotel, so’s I decided to walks back through town, but it started to pours rain, so I stopped at’s this bar . . . It doesn’t matters . . . let’s just go’s through this.”

“You could haves given me a call . . . ” said Toki.

“You was sleeping.”

“So’s I would have woken up. Big deal,” Toki said, shrugging and pursing lips.

     Skwisgaar looked Toki in the eye for a brief moment and began playing. Toki exhaled and joined in, playing steadily and pacing through the tempo changes to nail the quicker riffs. Skwisgaar periodically dropped notes but continued through the piece, coming back in following Toki’s parts after dropping out. Nearing the end of the song, Skwisgaar was picking through the more complicated phrase, back and forth following Toki’s rhythm. He suddenly hit a wrong chord, and Toki’s fingers slipped, jumping at the unusually blatant mistake. Toki attempted to keep playing, but lost momentum and eventually stopped.

“What happened?”

“I don’ts know. I hates this piece anyway; it’s stupid. We should gets a new piece.” Skwisgaar countered.

“But you wrote this piece. You saids it was brilliant.” Toki stared Skwisgaar down for a moment. Skwisgaar would not meet Toki’s gaze.

“Fine. Yeahs. Whatever.” There was a tense silence between the two for a moment.

Toki looked down for a minute, only to be met with silence, “Man, you ares just not yourselfs lately. Everything is ‘Whatevers,’ We’ve gots three days to learns this new piece before the show. I’m out. When you gets it together, come finds me.”  Toki set down the guitar but still stood looking at Skwisgaar for a bit, as if to say something Toki had been planning to say, but Toki then turned and headed out of the room instead.

Skwisgaar finally raised eyes to the empty door. He clenched his jaw twice and held back a strange and uncharacteristic tightening in his throat.


	3. It's nothing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please see chapter one for details.  
> ***trigger warning for mild discussion of alcoholism/sex addiction/memories of and response to sexual abuse

     Twelve beers in, Skwisgaar began to feel the room start to spin. He glanced across the club and noticed a good-looking brunette sitting at a barstool. Stumbling in that direction, pushing past the other patrons, he realized that the person was actually a young man. Damn hair. It was always mildly more difficult to gauge gender when the majority of your concert attendees had long hair.

     Though to be honest, Skwisgaar did not really mind. The brunette was easy on the eyes, and though Skwisgaar felt a wave of self-censure spill over his chest and face, he kept a still expression; somewhere within him, Skwisgaar had always felt a rushing freedom, almost dizzying, in the face of good-looking men. And really, after the number of people with incongruent outer gender presentations Skwisgaar had met—you’d be surprised in the music business—how could he really assume this was a man? The lights swirled in the glass of his mind. A few tight stumbles to the left.

     It was not like Skwisgaar was _one of those gays_ though, or whatever they called deviants now. A thing for brunettes aside, he glanced down the bar and spotted a handsome woman with sleek, black bangs and lipstick sharp enough to slit him open right there on the spot. Perfect.

 

 

     Several hours and alcoholic consumptions later, Skwisgaar found himself struggling to free himself from both a seat belt and his shirt. The stench of the woman’s shampoo had leeched far into his clothes by now, her thin lips smearing color across his pale jaw as he lifted his chin from her kiss in a gasp. Suddenly he was overcome with nausea, and not from the drink. Skwisgaar paused and leaned back against the car’s seat and gripped the car door, trying to quell his pulse and escalating breathing. He attempted to play this off as arousal, leaning into the woman who was now almost straddling him. Another face he would not remember in the morning. He smiled and looked up at her, running his hands over the curve of her upper thighs.

“Are you okay?” she paused and lifted a hand to cup the side of his face.

“It’s nothing . . . ” Skwisgaar ran the back of his hand along the soft firmness of her side, resuming kissing her neck with a slow desperation which spoke not just of motor impairment at this hour but also of a practiced vicious detachment. Skwisgaar felt a hand slide down his waistband, and he again felt himself leave himself. His hands deadened, taxidermied limbs, his body a container to be tool, he moaned and persisted in following the hot, hot heat, chasing a suffocating end. Some part of him laid straight down through the worried leather of the old seats and through the chipping metal of the old sedan. Part of him laid under the cold, exhaust-laden dust outside and watched two strangers wrestling in ecstasy and pain in a nearby car, feeling still the bass shaking the dirt from the neighboring club, and wishing to fly to any place soft. Heavy in guilt or something like shame, Skwisgaar waited outside in the cold, clinging to a memory of two light blue eyes holding his and not remembering where he had left his phone. The night air gathered around the car in a stifling closeness. This was the first of four women.


	4. Disregard

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please see chapter one for details.  
> ***Trigger warning for interpersonal violence/discussion of vomit/transphobia/misogyny/trans misogyny/femme phobia/like all that good stuff  
> I'm probably over-doing it a little with these warnings, but just tread carefully and consume literature critically.  
> Caring for readers is important.

     After practicing for four and a half hours, Toki’s fingers and brain were beginning to numb. It was 4 a.m., but Toki could not sleep. A clacking and the sound of several stumbles signaled the return of Skwisgaar. Toki rose from the chair and stared down the hallway—an anger which had been festering in the back of Toki’s mind was stirred from its dormancy. Toki brushed it off and walked off to his bedroom to attempt to get some shuteye, if that was even possible at this point. Suddenly, a set of clammy but strong hands clapped Toki around the shoulders.

“Hey, Tokis! Still nots practicing, I see,” Skwisgaar clucked his tongue in mock chastisement, “What a shames . . . ” The lead guitarist’s lopsided smile indicated he was somewhat drunk, his giddiness underinhibited.

“Skwisgaar, yous are the one whos not playing sos good. I don’t think yous have rooms to talk,” Toki frowned, turning to face the other and breaking free of the hands. Skwisgaar just laughed, then his facial expression shifted dramatically downward. He bent sharply and chucked his supper all over Toki’s shoes.

“Ugh!” exclaimed Toki, stepping back and dragging a foot along the clean carpet, wiping off sick in vain.

“Ah, whats ams it now? Yous worrieds about de nice shoes? Ha,”

Toki stared back.

“Yous gos and takes your lady shoes and go puts your hairs up, ehh?” Skwisgaar laughed and made a scoffing sound, trying to lift up Toki’s hair, the other guitarist back away swiftly and swatting his hand aside.

“Looks, I’s had enough. Dese is de third pair of shoes whats you’ve pukeds on this year,” Toki sighed and unconsciously ran a hand through the hair Swkisgaar almost grabbed, wrapping it over to one shoulder and away from his reach.

“Ohs so nows its my problems what you are always playing with your hair? You ams such a gourl, Toki. You ams too sensitives. Yous should grows some spine,” Skwisgaar made one more paw toward the other and turned to start staggering away.

 

Toki winced internally and said aloud in a weak voice, “Sos whats?” turning and scurrying down the hall to discard the now ruined new shoes.


	5. Asphyxiation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please see first chapter for more info.  
> ***Trigger warning!!!!  
> Definitely on this one...  
> Warning for negative self-talk, internalized trans mysogyny, trans phobia, self-hatred, femme-phobia, like all that good stuff. Homophobia. Violent/Aggressive/Suicidal ideology. Self-harm/scalding. Effects of systematic violence. Like, yum, right? Take care, dear reader.  
> But please know the end works out.

     Toki clutched the shoes, feeling pin pricks of hot tears spill. Toki’s field of vision went swirly, and Toki threw the shoes in an oversized wash sink, turning on the hot spigot as high as it would go, gripping the side of the plastic basin as hard as possible, feeling the edges dig into palms. Toki then thrust the shoes under the scalding hot water, washing vomit from the creases of the foot wear, scrubbing them with a rough brush and feeling the water digging a searing sensation through Toki’s knuckles. Toki’s breath was held tightly. The brush began scraping off flakes of the pastel paint and sparkles which were on the sides of the shoes. Toki could already see the sick wasn’t coming off well and the water was just ruining them—it would be unlikely they’d dry in the right shape again, if at all. Toki began taking staggering breathes now, the tears rolling now. _Stupid, stupid, stupid. Why get these at all? I should have put them back. Why did I say that? I should have just walked away. This always happens. Punch him, just fucking dig thumbs into his eyes. What is wrong with me? I just want to disappear. Stupid._

     Toki let the water keep burning and then turned on the cold quickly, attempting to reduce the scald.

     When Toki had initially bought the new sneakers after Skwisgaar’s last puking, which happened after a show in passing, so quickly Toki wasn’t even able to say anything . . . the lead guitarist had teased Toki mercilessly. Skwisgaar could not get over the bandmate’s choice of the brightly colored—“girly”—shoes, despite swell of warm floating that Toki felt upon laying eyes on them. The other musicians had sort of just given Toki a sharp inhale, (coupled with an eye roll on Murderface’s part), and said nothing. Toki could not read them. Approval or disapproval, Toki only knew that the shoes provided a feeling of liberty and secret power . . . Charles had given Toki a weird, fake half-smile, courteously putting them on the band credit card and then walking off, businesslike and cold as ever again. Toki just looked down and forced through the motions to get them, trying not to talk to anyone or face invoking the wrath of the others. Why not buy the black, aggressive boots like all the others? Toki really didn’t have a good answer to this.

     Recently it had struck Toki that it seemed like this whole thing was mostly a terrible façade. A terrible façade that Toki must bring up to meet the crashing swells of others, lest Toki be dragged under and torn up upon some sea bed. The waves did not rest either. Toki was struggling to tread water, despite a well-refined knowing of how to do this. Such knowledge came from years of learned molding: don’t sit like that; stand up like this; quick, don’t let them see your hand move like that; speak a bit louder like this; don’t look at that; don’t show interest in this; make sure to agree with that; show hatred for those people when you see them; above all, do not err from a path of being as consistently brutal as possible.

     Toki had swallowed the weeping, now a sick, cold lump in Toki’s chest, and now stood holding the shoes with shaking hands. Last week, Toki had finally articulated it. **_The façade was manhood._** It was this manhood thing. Toki knew how to do it, but it did not feel right.


	6. Immutable.  Unknowable.  Truth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please see chapter one for more info.
> 
> Much discuss gender. Wat is dis gender? How u know? Who tol' you dat? Who tol' you dat?!  
> Toki wins.

     That night, Toki lay tossing in the slightly over-warm sheets on the bed. It wasn’t that Toki wanted to be a girl. That was not it. The magnetism of girls was strong; something about that whole dynamic appealed greatly to Toki. Girlfriends. Girlhood. Southern belles. Starlets. Patient mothers. That quiet understanding of being able to pass around the need to dominate others. That was not the definition of female-ness, but it did serve as an important foot-hold to Toki. Toki also realized that many women were powerful and often down-right dominating. Women could be as “masculine” as anyone else, whatever that meant. But this was still not quite it.

     Was it just that Toki misunderstood the complexities of being a woman? What kind of stupid line of thinking was this? Didn’t that experience really stem from each individual woman? One surely couldn’t just categorize that as a mass thing. Why did Toki dare to even consider what such a thing meant? Toki forced these thoughts to stand aside for just a moment to at least logically consider the plausibility or possibility of such concepts. After all, logic was always welcome, right?

     Perhaps it just was what it was. Toki felt adrift. Man was definitely not something Toki wanted to aspire to be. When the guitarist thought of the future, Dethklok was definitely in it, but it just fuzzed out from there into grey. Toki could not foresee any future. Toki felt like never growing up, but that was also not true. Toki also already felt beyond old. These thoughts all swirled and stormed. Toki surely could not imagine what it was to be a woman, as Toki never had been such a thing, right? Socialization was incredibly intricate, and Toki could see many arguments for or against traditional gender understandings from this perspective. On the other hand, surely a man could not be something the guitarist had ever been; if anything, Toki thought, I was a warped and sad excuse for a man. But if this was so, then what was it really which made Toki know the experience of being a man? Toki could not figure this out.

     Was it a physical thing? From what investigations Toki had made, all the rhythm guitarist could find was that “biological” manhood was very heterogeneous. Socialization and culture aside, as defined by the medical establishment, intersex births occurred more frequently than anyone seemed willing to admit, and even without that degree of lack of binary alignment, even those deemed one gender at birth had so many possible hormonal or other variations—bones, hair, fat, muscle, skin, etc. –that it was impossible to rely with full certainty on the physical mint described as “man.” This all just served to give Toki indigestion and a reason to self-injure in order to quell the overwhelming feelings. Toki had also coped by playing more, though usually this just meant Toki was hanging with Skwisgaar more. This increased the harassment, in turn increasing the indigestion and self-inflicted hurt. Especially given Skwisgaar’s increasing lack of concern for his bandmate and increasing reckless behavior, Toki had just about had it.

     **Maybe he was one of those queers.**  
     Maybe he was . . . Toki figured the best word was transgender.  
     Maybe his gender was even . . . _nonbinary?_

     Toki could not figure out if this was even a reasonable way to explain these feelings, but something tied in with all the social policing by Skwisgaar and all of this confusion told Toki that this anger was not a thing to deny. It was not a bad thing. It was a final swell of surf which would wash Toki away from the rocks and out of this storm, or if not out of it, at least drown Toki and allow Toki’s body to become the brisk surge. Allow Toki to rush back with a riptide of Toki’s own, back against the scourge of others.  
Maybe he was a **ze**. _And maybe that was_ _**just fucking fine.**_

 

 

 

 

 

     Toki sighed and threw off the suffocating sheets. Ze rose and snatched the shoes, grabbing a technical flashlight ze had left lying on the desk next to some half-assembled model planes. Ze padded softly, briskly outside through the side doors, smelling the recently rain-dampened earth and stepping along the edge of the tree-line past the klokateers, hir bare feet stirring the soil. Toki walked until the sky began to lighten slightly. Behind a massive fallen cedar tree, Toki knelt the warm bends of hir limbs and dug the fresh clay up with hir bare hands, gently covering the shoes down deep. The anger smiled sweet and burned like cinnamon in the pit of hir. Toki laughed briefly, melodiously, and stroked hir mustache, fingers fluttering. Ze disappeared just as swiftly again into the dark undergrowth, a gentle grin playing upon hir lips.


	7. Squall line

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please see chapter one for more details.
> 
> ***Trigger warning for discussion of biphobia, homophobia, femme-phobia, misogyny,  
> especially for discussion of childhood sexual abuse, bullying, workplace gender violence, and self-loathing. More alcoholism, sex addiction, general self-medication/self-destruction. Gotta do some character development here, but be ready.

     Skwisgaar practiced until his fingers were red, one of them slightly cut. The line where the metal string had parted his skin was not bleeding; the skin had just been pushed down sharply, leaving several under layers exposed. He applied a small bandage and went out to get a drink. Or several. Walking to the bar, Skwisgaar contemplated life as of lately.  
Toki. Toki was a bit of a problem.

 

     Everyone else seemed pretty normal. The rest of the band had been practicing, pretty much nailing their parts. Nathan had a particular vocal rasp which he couldn’t seem to figure out on the end of one song, but he had finally found a way to nail it this afternoon, so that was all taken care of. Skwisgaar had practiced enough to simply ingrain the notes into his muscle memory from sheer, clinical repetition. That was good enough for him. He could liven it up on the performance night. Nothing a little drugs and focus couldn’t fix. This concert wasn’t even that big. After the shadow of Dethwater, most fans seemed sated for the moment, though the band kept turning out fair-quality albums.

     Toki though.

     Skwisgaar had never had a perfect relationship with his bandmate. The intersection of Skwisgaar’s and Toki’s musicianship did allow him to play beyond any greatness he could achieve alone, but as for interpersonal dynamics . . . Skwisgaar wasn’t always really sure what to do. The others were easier. Pickles was usually so inebriated on whatever he chose at the time to bend his reality that Skwisgaar didn’t have to think too hard at getting social interactions exactly right; this, coupled with the drummer’s usual lack of tact and good-naturedness, yielded a trusting, if distant, friendship. Murderface was so consumed in self-contempt and his own fears of inadequacy that Skwisgaar never worried much about things with him. Usually he just yanked William’s chain or lorded his musical skill over him to reduce friction. Murderface responded with joking about day-to-day things or avoiding Skwisgaar. This was fine with him. As for Nathan, Skwisgaar and Nathan were usually the only ones willing to actually direct the band much or take much personal responsibility for the music. To this end, they had a dry but secure working relationship.

     Toki was if anything the soberest of them all, not all that driven to take charge, held a small but sure sense of self-worth, and was overall just the most . . . well, passive? of the bandmembers. Recently, Toki had been standing up to Skwisgaar more. The biggest issue was that while he did appreciate Toki’s ability to boost his own sound on a purely selfish level, he genuinely liked the kid. Toki reminded Skwisgaar quite a bit of a slightly younger version of himself. Both had many terrible experiences in their childhoods, both found release through a love of metal, specifically the guitar, and both were in the same position in life right now. Skwisgaar felt a tightness in his stomach, and took a deep breath of the cool but damp air, inhaling a bit of dust. He figured if he was off to get one good last drinking night in before the concert anyways, he might as well be honest at this point. Skwisgaar was afraid.

     There was only so long that Skwisgaar could hold his own prowess over Toki’s. At a certain point, there was also the possibility—though he did not wish to think clearly about this right now—that there was only so long that Skwisgaar Skwigelf could hold prowess over the world. One day, perhaps someone would best him. Why was he playing guitar anyways? And if he should stop or fall below his usual searing perfection? When would he begin to disintegrate? When would he begin to lose control of his life again, as he had as a child? Was there even reason to hold on to anything? Or was all of his effort wasted on a meaningless, pain-filled struggle? Usually Skwisgaar upheld himself as a proud nihilist, but when it came down to the wire, he was not entirely comfortable with the idea, though he thought himself weak for these feelings.

     He could not share these thoughts with anyone. Sometimes he had tried talking to Charles about them, but Charles had his own terrifying if efficient worldviews on these things, and Skwisgaar got the impression that there was some kind of deep, dark hole down inside of Charles beyond that charming exterior, and as warm as reaching his hand into that mouth had been, Skwisgaar did not feel like crawling into that ravenous gullet. Something sharp and hungry lay down there. Something he did not want to be anywhere near.

     Toki was a threat. Toki was also one of the best friends . . . one of the only friends . . . that Skwisgaar had. Toki was one of the few people with whom Skwisgaar could speak something aside from English. Toki also was consistently relatively nice to him. Sometimes Toki would be an ass back to Skwisgaar, but considering how often he hassled Toki about silly shit to ease their interactions, Skwisgaar would have been surprised had the rhythm guitarist done any different.

     Nevertheless, Skwisgaar felt uneasy around Toki. He could not put his finger on what it was. To a certain degree, Skwisgaar just chalked it up to trying to keep up a reputation worthy of a metal god while still nurturing whatever disjointed friendship and musical relationship the two had. Skwisgaar didn’t have that much maturity on Toki, but he did have musical prowess and a tad of life experience. He naturally felt often in a leading sort of role when interacting with Toki; Skwisgaar often found himself wanting to impart as much knowledge as possible, whether or not Toki got pissed and began ignoring him or just generally being a pain in the neck. Judging from the number of times Toki would copy Skwisgaar, sometimes excessively, he did not think this went unappreciated. On a certain level, the two were very close.

     Skwisgaar felt some close friend-bonds with other bandmates; there was, for example, that time Pickles had bathed him, washing off the copious blood and glass from Skwisgaar after a particularly bad bar fight while the guitarist was practically passed out from both drink and a concussion. Neither of the men acted like this was a huge invasion of privacy or were weird about it afterwards—they did what needed to be done. Any of the band were fine for killing time with. Skwisgaar even had reached a point of tolerating Murderface’s annoying rants periodically, finding them bemusing if often misguided. Toki though . . .

     He honestly loved spending time with Toki. He could not deny that. Toki just ‘got’ him on so many levels. Toki was always willing to listen. Toki even looked up to him. Most of all, Toki respected him. He never needed to fear a genuine attack from Toki. On a personal level, Toki felt safe. Among all the people in Skwisgaar’s life up to this point with whom Skwisgaar invested himself, even if Toki pretended to hate him, Skwisgaar knew that Toki would not outright betray him as the majority of others had. Toki may be a reluctant or recalcitrant friend, but Toki was definitely a friend. Toki could be counted on to be . . . well . . . Toki. The same Toki that Skwisgaar found himself thinking about late some nights, stumbling home from drunken exploits through god knows where, focusing on that smooth, warm chestnut hair and those pale blue eyes which sometimes held his so steadily, the thought of whom created a reassuring warmth in his chest. The same Toki who some nights listened to him weep over his mother and swore to tell no one. The same who now had offered to extend safety to him on nights like this one when his head would not stop spinning and his heart churned. There was a terrible vulnerability there. There was a beautiful, razor-sharp edge upon which they danced.

 

 

     Skwisgaar kept walking, though it began to rain. There was a down-pour coming, and the humid air had been stirring up dust in the culverts. Luckily, Skwisgaar was almost at the bar, but he would have to hurry to avoid being drenched.

     He reckoned that this was what was most bothering him about Toki: interaction was just weird. It was just weird. It was like Skwisgaar had been given a map and a set of social rules to fly this plane, but as soon as Skwisgaar was with Toki, especially alone, the radar went dead and the compass started spinning ‘round wildly. There was the problem of Toki’s dress sense, and Skwisgaar thought, really Toki’s whole demeanor. He could not help but admit that his band mate was a bit effeminate. At first, Skwisgaar had blown this off as childishness, as most everyone else, including the general public, did. To a degree, none of them were that old, and what with Toki’s mostly trashed or non-existent childhood, Skwisgaar figured he was just getting all his youth out of his system. Not a bad thing. He later concluded that this could not be all though. Skwisgaar had watched Toki take up for so many people, taking on sometimes huge amounts of responsibility, such as when Toki had grieved and felt tremendous guilt for that little sick girl’s death, despite it not being Toki’s fault. Sure, Toki was still learning and making mistakes in taking responsibility, but while Toki was many things, immature when it really counted was not one of those. After a while, Skwisgaar began to suspect that Toki might be a little warm.

     But then there were all the “goils.” Skwisgaar just figured that perhaps Toki was a little insecure in manhood. But then again, the rhythm guitarist always stepped up to showing machismo when it was warranted . . . until recently that is. Maybe he’s bi? Skwisgaar furrowed his brow. It wasn’t like he’d never met anyone like that before. He’d had relationships, however minimal, with numerous bisexual girls. Surely this wasn’t too strange a thing.

     _But God? How did one go about explaining a thing like that to someone else? **How do you actually be that?** Surely that makes you the sickest, most pathetic thing out there? What would they think?_ Memories of potential fathers, club owners mostly, from Skwisgaar’s childhood rose in his mind. Men greasy with sweat and the privilege of disinterest slinging slurs at effeminate men, pushing them down staircases, running them out of establishments only to tell their friends later about it, laughing, “Yeah, I got that p***y-***ed f***er good.” Talk of ‘fixing’ people, as if violence would somehow mend someone, whatever that kind of broken even meant. Skwisgaar felt the heat wafting off of this press meant for him and men like him and felt the exposedness that entailed. He could not understand precisely what shape those all-consuming wounds would be, but he knew that he did not desire to learn with what kinds of salt or in what ways one was supposed to fill them. Memories of men with whom he’d grown up. Memories of neighborhood friends giving him flack for his long hair, “Heyyy, devotchka! You going to cut that shit or what?!” Memories of sometimes friendly punches to the shoulder and other times being dragged into places, darkness and hands, a feeling of suffocation, hot and malicious breath on his shoulders, leaving only when someone let up, or leaving yourself there to walk home alone.

    

     Suddenly Skwisgaar felt his heart speeding up, nausea beckoning. His eyes glazed over. The rain had begun to fall in heavy drops. The bar doors felt cold and solid against his palms. Thinking was not something he could do now. F, D, C; F, D, C chord. One bottle, two, three, four. One woman, another, perhaps another. Repetition; repetition; no thinking; rinse and repeat.


	8. Scandanavian wyrd-ness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please see first chapter for more details.  
> ***homophobia, but pretty mild this chapter.

“Hey, Toki,” said skiwsgaar hesitantly, “I ams having a conundrums. Was wondering if I coulds, ah, get your opinion on it?” Skwisgaar had entered Toki’s room slightly, padding a couple of toes onto the carpet but stepping no further, swinging his long hair around the corner of the door to peer in at the rhythm guitarist who was sitting doodling in a coloring book. Toki nodded at him, bidding him to enter.

  
“Wells, um . . . ” Skwisgaar looked down momentarily and then swung eyes up to look at Toki who was looking expectantly at him, lips held tight in an unreadable expression, “I ams supposing I ams owings you apologies first. Uskualies I amsn’t being such a dicks to you, but I’s just gots carrieds away. Yous know it ams just pal-ing around, ja?”

Toki stared hard at him for a moment and then looked away and up briefly, glancing back to meet Skwisgaar’s eyes. “Sometimes it is being hards to tell,” Toki frowned slightly.

Skwisgaar sighed haughtily, “Oh, comes now, Tokis, you knows I amsn’ts . . . ” Toki’s eyes bored into his unwaveringly, and Skwisgaar looked off to the side to break the contact, “Looks, I ams justs trying to . . . ” he trailed off.

Ze sighed heavily, “Skwisgaar, I shoulds have saids something sooner. I does understands that you ares just ‘pal-ing around,’ but sometimes it is just too much. I’s don’ts really understand why what you ams sayings ams funny anymore somestimes. Really, I kind of wanted to talk to you about something else also. . . ” Toki paused briefly looking down and then back up to the other.

Skwisgaar interrupted awkwardly, “I means, ja, jeez . . . Yous just gots to stops beings such a pansy about it,” he paused, smiling and looking off to a corner, “but, ja, whats ams you wantings to tell me?”

“Never minds,” Toki let out a heavy sigh and started digging through hir crayons again. Nope. Nope. He definitely won’t get it. Better to just let it go.

Skwisgaar raised a hand he didn’t seem to know what to do with and scratched behind his neck with it, using the motion as a good excuse to look further away from Toki, turning his face slightly to the side and making a small frown, “Welp. I’s, ah, I’s was sorts of wanting to talks to you abouts something too, ifs that’s okay?” Toki paused hir rooting around and glanced at the lead guitarist a moment before returning to stirring the wax pastels.

“Sure, jah . . . What?” Toki continued to ignore him. This was odd for Skwisgaar to ask permission twice, but the jerk didn’t deserve hir full attention just yet.

“Wells . . . Here ams the ‘ting. I ams wonderings . . . uhm . . . wells.”

Toki rolled hir eyes and impatiently smiled toward him, “What?” ze said sharply.

“Does you ever ams feelings sorts of . . . ah . . . I don’ts know . . . ah . . . weirds around guys? I means likes . . . in a bisexcksuals ways? I means we’s ams both nots the most manlies of da guys and justs . . . ah . . . hows does a guys know if’n he’s ams liking another guy? I means, Nat’an’s gots tha long hairs, but he ams only likings gurls, so’s . . . ”

Toki at first recoiled a bit, raising hir lip, “You wanted to ax me if I ams into dudes?”

“No’s . . . I ams justs sayings . . . ” Skwisgaar back-pedaled.

Toki rolled hir eyes and smiled a big crocodile smile, eyes crinkling up as ze leaned in towards Skwisgaar, “Ahhhhhhhh . . . I gets it. I gets it. Skwisgaar! I woulds not haves been thinkings you ams being a bisexcksuals kindsa guy! Looksa’t yous! Good fors you!” Toki goaded, leaning over and passive-aggressively punching Skwisgaar on the shoulder.

“No’s! No’s! . . . No’s I, ah, who ams . . . who ams tellings you that?!” Skwisgaar back-pedaled more vigorously. Toki’s face dropped.

“Ohs . . . ohs shit. That’s ams . . . a legistimate question. Ah,” Toki paused a moment, looking away for a minute. _Shit. He is bi. Oh, shit! Oh, shit! That ams makings so much sense. No wonder the jerk is so hung up on the gender stuff. Wait . . . Does he not get gender and sexkuality ams different?_

_Oh, shit! thought Skwisgaar, Oh, shit! Wells . . . now he ams knowings. Oh, shit. Whats have I done?_

“ . . . Look, Skwisgaar, havings long hairs is not the same as beings bisesckxuals. It also amn’ts makings you a lady . . . Gender ams a separate t’ing. If you ams beings a guy, you can likes guys and be beings manly, or you can ams beings a feminines guys and be’s likings da goils? Coulds be beings a feminines guy and likings both? Is beings like a independents t’ing? Is that ams makings sense?”

“Uhhhhhhhh . . . ” Skwisgaar’s eyes glazed over for a minute. “Ams you sayings it ams beings like three differents t’ings? Like . . . but den whats ams likings dudes likes anyways?”

Toki paused for a bit, toying with the cord on the engineer’s lamp on hir desk. _Maybe hope’s not lost after all. Maybe I can explain this t’ing._ “Wells, I mean for me its ams beings kind of likes a feeling drawn into da warmths of someone? Likes you ams thinkings of dem all da time and ams wantings to be wit dem. But it ams not beings like justs a hero-worship t’ing? Sometimes it ams like wit da goils, like whats ams bringings da sweats and makes you want to fall down at dere feets? Is that making sens—”

Skwisgaar was smirking again. “Uh, ja, so’s you ams just like beings really gay. Likes extra gays wit your hairs and sparklies princess’s shoes?”

“Very funnies. Okay. If yous are nots asxing justs to be hasslings me, I presume you ams asking for yourselfs? So’s like . . . Are you likings some guy, Skwisgaar?” Toki’s now smirked. _I knows you, Skwisgaar. I ams knowings you too well. You ams stepping too far. Now is my turn._

At this moment, Skwisgaar’s face drained of color. He stared right at Toki before quickly looking away and then back into Toki’s eyes. “Dahhhh . . . ”  Toki noticed his slight discomfort and was pleased with hir good guess and the shift of power dynamic. Ze was also feeling generous and broke eye contact. 

“Well, and you sees sometimes it ams more complicateds wit’ da genders, you knows? Like some peoples, likes myself, we ams not beings one gender? Like we ams not jus’ a guy or jus’ a lady?” The rhythm guitarist paused for a moment, waiting for Skwisgaar’s reaction.

“Ahm, yeahs, that ams . . . what?”

“You knows . . . like we ams kinds of being the nuoitrals gender?” Toki looked down for a bit, holding hir breath and silently praying ze would not have to explain more or parry an attack.

“Ahm, jah . . . It ams beings like dis kid I mets one times, a long times ago. Ja’s I knows what you ams meaning. Uh . . . you ams—dat ams you, Toki?” Skwisgaar said foggily, articulating the last bit gingerly, rolling the words off his tongue as if they might all fall out wrong if he did not set them down carefully.

 

 

Suddenly Nathan burst through the doorway, causing the door to clatter against the wall. “There you guys are. We only have forty minutes to get to the concert. Stop fucking around and get your stuff. Van is outside. Be there in ten minutes, or we are leaving without you.” Toki looked at the silenced phone lying to hir side; 30 missed messages. All from Nathan.

“All right. Lets do dis,” Toki grabbed the guitar lying next to the desk and rose to hir feet, swiftly striding out towards the exit. Skwisgaar stood not breathing for a bit, feeling both anxious and relieved, not sure what to think.

“Come on. I think Pickles saved you a beer,” Nathan glanced briefly at him and then thundered out of the bedroom and down the hallway, sighing something under his breath about _‘fuckin’ Scandanavian weirdos.’_


	9. Into the blinding light

     Stumbling, dragging themselves out of the baking van, the musicians stepped out into the cool, hazy dusk. Toki's sweat began to evaporate as ze took a few light-headed steps through the evening with the others over to the backstage entrance. Ze stepped past the gentle gusts of summer, asphalt, and field-smell, moving into the clean but stagnant musk of the dilapidated factory venue they were playing tonight. Henchmen were already setting up the stage lay-out and setting out intstruments. Pickles sloshed away to determinedly tune his drums, despite lacking all fine motor control, swiping at and hexing any hired help who attempted to prevent him from breaking things. _After all, it was his goddaym money, and gohdammit, if anyone is gonna fuck it up, it's gonna be him --- jeeezzuz, why's that so hard to understand?! Fuck you's guys...Fuck this place!_ Nathan and Murderface went to the restroom. Well. Nathan went to the restroom, and Murderface followed in his wake like some kind of bloated buzzard, Nathan trying to appease him with periodic nods and, “Uhh . . . Yeah. Uh-huh . . . Yeh,” but Murderface was not having any of it. He was a quietly rumbling landspout endlessly churning out one-sided arguments about how _of course everybody thinks JFK was shot! That's what they want you to think! Why do you think they put the flouride in the water after all???_ Nathan did not appear entirely convinced.

     Toki stood staring at hir new sneakers. Knock-offs, but as best as she. As best as he could do at the moment on such short notice. Ze had stolen one of Charles' credit cards when he was distracted putting out a minor scheduling fire this morning, walking into town alone and doing what needed to be done. The rubber of the toes pressed into the long-stained and weathered cement steps backstage. Toki stood close enough to the immense, heavy black velvet stage curtains that they appeared to swallow hir. **_I ams a demon. No one can touch me. I am made of light like these shoes. I can flow through the woods and rafters. I am a part of everything and no one would see me coming._ ** Toki smiled quietly at this small, powerful thought. She smiled a tiny fraction warmer, realizing that really, at the end of all of it, this was a thing he had thought all on hir own. This was not a thing which could be purchased or destroyed, like cheap new shoes. This was something no one could extinguish.

    Toki felt a rustle of fabric and felt warmth at hir shoulder – Skwisgaar appeared beside him. “Hey.” The guitarist met Toki's eyes and then looked down briefly. Toki paused, “Hey.” The two stared at the passing dust motes for a moment in silence.

“You's gots new shoes. That's good.”

“Yeah.”

“I coulds . . . Um, I guess I should's repay you for those, yah? I'm sorry about the o'ters. And takk for listening. Sometimes I am's just not's knowing what to do, you knows?”

     Toki looked into the depths of the folds of the curtains and then back to Skwisgaar's half-shadowed face. Ze could see the curves and angles of his facial bones illuminated in the dappled cracks of light filtering backstage. Something in them was unique to the lead guitarist. Like a line of cliff edges or the cut of a fjord. Something there was unmistakable and felt mildly like home. “I know.”

Skwisgaar looked away for a moment, then, “You knows I do really think you ams ok, right?”

     Toki breathed. The crowd behind the weight of the curtains roared deafeningly. He did not meet Skwisgaar's eyes, although he pushed down a small burning tinge of anger; ze felt grateful for the presence of this; underneath was just pain.

“Hmm?” ze replied. If proxy ignorance as understatement was plague, Toki hoped the air around her was now sweet and ripe and caustic enough to be palpable. Skwisgaar was never emotionally prepared. He would not take heed of contact precautions. The spores would catch him right in his stupid face and strike him down dead, tendrils puncturing through the soft membranes in his structure. Perhaps in years, both of them could just melt inside into syrupy, rotting maceration and erode into nothingness through these sterile industrial floors. Maybe everyone would just forget they were ever there. Maybe this conversation would not need to happen. Not mean anything.

“Toki. I, you knows. I do-es cares abouts you, Toki,”

I am's sorry I did's not's call you. You's am's the ones helpings me, but you deserves better. All's I am's doings's pushing you away and knocking's you down. Sometimes I am's just not's wanting's to admit I am's not a god, you know? It am's hard to axcepts that I cans be knockeds down too. That I haves been. That's peoples haves knocked me down and's,”  
he inhaled, speaking too fast, his English blurring slightly,

“more difficult adsmittings that'ds am's ok too. Sorry – I am's not makes sense. I mean, that's I am's a persons too? I cannots control other people. I ams just stucks here in zha world lieks anyones else. Never am's askxign for thats. Nevrs am's askxign my mom's to bangs sums griesy asxhohl and wat's, there! Then, there! I am dragged, bisxechkuals and bent ups as Ah am's beins, into'es this fuckin' place? Iyh mean, who's gives a fuck? Who gives a fuck who's we am's or who's we love, euh!?” Skwisgaar's voice wavered very slightly, very quietly at the end.

     Toki was thrown. Shit was getting real pretty fast and this was unchartered territory. Toki was really tired of this. Not just Skwisgaar, but the whole lot. Just all this garbage, on and on, compounding into this enormous life question, which honestly, at the end of it, never seemed to mean anything or add up to anything but pain. She paused a moment, and decided that this was enough.

     Ze was enough. Skwisgaar was enough. They were enough, and this was enough. He took a leap and let go of it and just nodded, looking long and hard into Skwisgaar's eyes, brow furrowed, trying to judge where to go next with this.

Murderface leaned around the corner of the backstage area, screaming a curdled, “All right, you f**s! Ready to get out here? Let's blow 'em out of the water!”

     Toki and Skwisgaar exchanged look which was exhausted beyond all comprehension.

“Skwisgaar. You am's rights. And I don't's know what to tells you. Sometimes you just have's to be brave? They's always goings to say things. We do-es haves to stay safe, but. I guess . . . it's not at the's expense of friendships, you know? That's not okays,” Toki stepped forward, brushing against Skwisgaar's arm gently. The announcer had already begun prepping the crowd, and the roar was growing. Skwisgaar could feel the hurried, soft breath of the rhythm guitarist on his shoulder. His hair drifted like the touch of ghosts of friends long dead and past on her elbow, and the two both shivered slightly. Skwisgaar looked steely and distant for a moment, then sighing in something between surrender and resolve, lithely slipping an arm around hir waist and pulling Toki into a gentle embrace. Toki suddenly felt what could only have been a warm kiss on the top of his head, melting the coating of fear which had formed there. Toki curled in, briefly inhaling the smell of Skwisgaar, this time something in between taxi seats, old cedar boxes, fresh dirt, and something else which was too pure and close to vulnerability for her to name.

“Let's just go be Skwisgaar and Toki, yeah? I do-es cares abouts you. Don't's be forgetting's that . . . and fucks the rest of them,” Skwisgaar smiled warmly, strongly. Toki smiled back, equally feral. They pushed through the weighty curtains and into the blinding lights.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fin!
> 
> Please let me know what you think! Thanks to everyone one here. Gender and sexuality and existing as a human are weird things. It's nice to take them out on some silly cartoons and like actually explore the nature of humanity n stuff, ya know?
> 
> Take care, you crazy cats. Remember that you are enough. You're always enough.


End file.
